


Priorities

by Kryptodrakon



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Brief description of needles in chapter 3, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I'll add character tags as they show up, Probably everyone else too, Sick Noctis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-24 14:26:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15632529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kryptodrakon/pseuds/Kryptodrakon
Summary: Luck had never been with Noctis during flu season. Whether it was the lingering effect of his childhood injuries or some kind of cosmic karma for being such a brat he never knew, but he’d never yet managed to escape whatever nasty bug was passed around the Citadel no matter how many oranges Ignis shoved down his throat.





	1. Chapter 1

Luck had never been with Noctis during flu season. Whether it was the lingering effect of his childhood injuries or some kind of cosmic karma for being such a brat he never knew, but he’d never yet managed to escape whatever nasty bug was passed around the Citadel no matter how many oranges Ignis shoved down his throat.

 

This year had been no exception. He’d wound up bedridden for a week, confined to his palace rooms where the doctor on staff had easy access to him, and when he emerged after his self-imposed quarantine still weak and weary it had been to find he was dreadfully behind on, well, everything.

 

Since graduation, he’d taken up a fair number of official duties in the hours that had once been occupied by classes. Ignis still sat in on council meetings, but more often than not these days Noctis was there as well, taking notes in his own hasty scrawl. His training sessions with Gladio had doubled in both length and intensity, his Shield foisting new weapons upon him almost as fast as he could learn to wield the last with proficiency. He also trained with various members of the Kingsglaive, learning to better control his magic now that he could access it. That had been slow in coming, another reminder of the ways the Marilith had permanently affected him, but what he still lacked in raw power he made up for in being clever in its use.

 

Training would wait until he was feeling better, but politics moved on apace. By the time he felt well enough to make the short trek to his office, wrapped in the comforter from his bed with a box of tissues under one arm and a ridiculously gigantic mug of hot tea in the other hand, the neatly filed and flagged stack of meeting notes from Ignis was teetering on the desk. But it was the red folder laid on top of the rest that drew his attention, left there by his advisor, who knew what he’d want to prioritize after his convalescence.

 

His first venture in community service had been after the attempt on his life in Tenebrae. He’d been a shell of himself, hardly speaking or eating, wracked with guilt at what his presence had brought to Fenestala Manor and plagued by uncertainty about Luna’s fate. It was Ignis’ idea to take him to the local animal shelter, ignoring his feeble protests. They’d dragged him into a glass-walled meeting room and dumped a box of orphaned kittens in his lap, and it had been the beginning of finding himself again. Over the years he’d sought out more ways to engage with the people he was meant to rule someday, everything from fundraising campaigns and charity events to free days at Insomnia’s many museums to the quiet little piano recital he performed once a month at the senior home near his apartment. His community outreach project had felt like the next step, the culmination of months of hard work and difficult conversations, and within the red folder were the plans for the open space he’d been pushing to build in place of the old mall due to be demolished the following week.

 

Someone knocked softly on the door. “It’s open,” Noctis croaked. Nyx Ulric slipped into the room, shutting the door behind him and executing a quick bow, fist over his heart and a smile on his face. “A little bird told me you were up and around.”

 

“Oh. She told me I looked like a snot burrito.”

 

The glaive snorted. “Crowe’s good with words,” he said with a shrug. He accepted the gesture of offering Noct made toward one of the chairs across the desk and sank into it.

 

“Long shift?”

 

“Mm. Counselor Pidwick’s been sleepwalking again.”

 

Noctis winced. “I thought buying him pajamas for the solstice would solve that problem. Better your eyes than mine I guess,” he added with a grin. Nyx chuckled and leaned back in the chair. Were his father there, Noctis was sure he wouldn’t have appreciated the glaive’s relaxed attitude in the presence of his son. Noct loved it, appreciated that Ulric was honest with him and treated him like a person. It was a relationship that had taken some years to cultivate, Noctis carefully wearing away at the stiff formality to find the rather easy going person beneath. That Nyx was also a patient instructor while Noctis bumbled about trying to learn how to warp certainly helped endear the man to him as well.

 

“I just stopped by to ask how you were, and if you’d gotten the plans for your park yet,” Nyx said, jarring Noctis from his thoughts.

 

“Was just about to look at them,” he replied, pulling the red folder off the stack and laying it open on the desk between them, carefully unfolding the schematic inside. “Gods, it’s even better than I’d hoped.”

 

Months of working closely with the engineers employed in the Citadel had yielded a park plan that utilized every inch of space the lot provided. There was a community garden, pavilions equipped with barbecue grills for large gatherings, a massive playground, and a koi pond with shade trees and picnic tables. One side boasted a baseball diamond and basketball court, and there were walking paths and open grassy areas throughout. He’d picked the location deliberately for its proximity to refugee neighborhoods. Insomnia had a lot of green space, but much of the housing assigned to those that came from beyond the Wall was far removed from the city center and ever in the shadow of the skyscrapers and overpasses above. This lot had rare access to prolific sunlight. Once merely a pleasing aesthetic pouring through stained glass, now it would grow vegetables and lend light to get togethers and baseball games.

 

“It’s great,” Nyx affirmed, looking it over appreciatively. “Congratulations. I’m impressed.”

 

“Don’t congratulate me yet, I still have to secure the funding.” He carefully folded the plan once more and flipped to the next page in the packet, the guest list for the benefit dinner meant to secure that funding, to take place the same day as the demolition the following week. Ignis had attached a post-it with his recommendations for the seating chart. Noctis made a mental note to buy his advisor a case of Ebony as a thank you. “Besides, this was as much your idea as it was mine.”

 

“Hey, all I said was that people could use some outdoor space. This thing is your brainchild.”

 

“I wouldn’t have even known where to start if you hadn’t been willing to tell me the truth. Take the credit, Ulric. You’re due.”

 

The glaive ducked his head, his ears reddening under the praise. “Thanks.” Reaching out, he plucked the post-it with Ignis’ chart from the file and glanced over it. “Lot of ass kissing,” he murmured, then seemed to realize he’d said it out loud and winced. “Sorry.”

 

Noctis just shrugged, his grin a little lopsided. “Hey, if there’s anything worth a night of ass kissing it’s this.”

 

Nyx took his leave after confirming Noct would be back on his regular training schedule on Wednesday, and the prince sank into the well-loved leather desk chair with a sigh. His tea had gone cold, but a carefully directed swirl of flame from his index finger warmed it well enough, though it drained him more than it should have. He contemplated going back to his room, his real motivation for coming all this way when he still felt so lousy already done with, but the pile of reports would only grow if he left it be. He pulled the top folder and opened it in front of him, twirling his favorite pen between his fingers as he dove into the latest agricultural reports.

 

 

* * *

 

He hadn’t meant to fall asleep at his desk.

 

The sun streaming directly into his face woke him shortly after dawn, and Noctis groaned and rubbed his stiff neck as he sat up, peeling the last page of the infrastructure budget off his cheek and setting it back with its companions. Somehow he’d made it through the entire week’s worth of notes in a single evening, and retained most of the pertinent information. Ignis would be certain he was an imposter.

 

Speaking of.

 

Picking up his phone from the desk, he speed dialed his chamberlain, surprised when he picked up on the first ring. “Noctis, thank the Gods. Where are you?”

 

“I’m in my office. Is something wrong?”

 

“Your office.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“At dawn?”

 

Noctis sighed. “Well, not on purpose. I fell asleep going through the reports you left me.”

 

“You went through the reports already?”

 

His advisor’s poorly disguised surprise sent his eyes rolling in their sockets. “Yes, Ignis. I am capable of being responsible every now and then.” He couldn’t entirely stifle the grin as Ignis coughed in that way that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. “Am I late for something?”

 

“I merely thought a light breakfast might be in order, seeing as you’re still on the mend. I… expected to find you asleep, that’s all. Shall I bring it to the office instead?”

 

“Thanks Ig. I’ll come to you.” He ended the call and dropped his phone into the pocket of his sweatpants, folding the comforter over an arm and thanking the Six he knew the back route to his rooms from his office so he didn’t have to face anyone too important in fuzzy chocobo socks.

 

All things considered, he felt quite a bit more human, minus the stiff neck from lying on the desk all night and a lingering headache, and when he reached the door to his rooms and caught a whiff of Ignis’ cooking his face lit up like Christmas day.

 

His advisor had an apron on over his dress shirt and slacks and was busy in the kitchenette swirling crepe batter round the bottom of the pan. Noctis picked up the jar of whipped mascarpone and grinned. “Light breakfast?”

 

“Well, lighter than steak and eggs.” Ignis surveyed him from behind his glasses before turning back to the stove to flip his crepe. “You look better.”

 

“I feel better.” He tossed the comforter onto the sofa and corralled one of the stools from under the breakfast bar, plopping onto it with only a minimal wince. “Neck is a bit sore from sleeping bent over the desk, but I think it’s safe to say I’m on the mend.”

 

“Excellent. Then you’ll be in attendance at this afternoon’s council meeting? They’ll be addressing the zoning changes for your park project.”

 

“I’ll be there.” He didn’t foresee any problems, having already met with the city planners and the zoning board to discuss the project, but he’d still be expected to show up. “I’ll grab a nap a little later so I’m fresh.”

 

Ignis set a plate of crepes in front of him, filled with mascarpone and topped with an assortment of seasonal berries and powdered sugar. “I had your pinstripe suit dry cleaned, and there’s a new jar of hair gel and a fresh razor on the sink in your bathroom.”

 

Noct rubbed absently at the sprinkling of stubble on his chin. “I don’t deserve you Ignis.”

 

“No you don’t.” The older man grinned cheekily at him.

 

They passed the rest of breakfast discussing the reports, some line changes to the budget a few of the departments had been pushing for and where funds could be shuffled to make room for additional projects. By the time the dishes were washed and put away, Noctis was flagging, and when Ignis recommended that he take longer nap than he’d planned he didn’t argue except to insist that he wanted to shower first. The hot water felt good on his sore neck, and he lingered a few extra minutes before clambering out of the shower to dry off, bundling up in clean sweats. His bed was freshly made, with a different comforter and clean white sheets and he slid under them, enjoying the smell of fabric softener as he closed his eyes and drifted off.

 

The relaxation didn’t last long. His dreams were troubled, full of yellow eyes and mocking laughter, and he woke to find that the minor headache had evolved into something far less tolerable. Worse, his neck had stiffened up considerably during his nap and bending it forward or turning his head too far to either side left him gasping. He barely made it to the bathroom in time to avoid splattering the morning's crepes across the carpet, wiping his mouth and sitting back on his heels after flushing the toilet to take a second to try and breathe.

 

For a moment he considered skipping the meeting, but with the mall set to be demolished and the timetable they were working on, delaying the formal request to rezone the lot would delay construction on the park itself. He was already cutting it close to the start of the cold weather of late autumn. Any delay would serve to set the completion date back to the following spring, which was the last thing he wanted. With a groan, Noctis dragged himself up from the floor to lean against the sink, catching his expression in the mirror. He looked as bad as he felt, pale and exhausted and vaguely sweaty. Scowling at his reflection, he rinsed his face and opened the cabinet. “Two cases of Ebony,” he said aloud as his fingers found the fresh bottle of ibuprofen Ignis had left the night before. Noct dry-swallowed three and slipped the bottle into his pocket, reminding himself to transfer it to the suit.

 

By the time he’d dressed and forced his hair into something presentable the meds had kicked in somewhat, and he felt a bit better. He was gathering his notes into some semblance of order and rehearsing the request under his breath when Ignis let himself in, impeccably groomed and clutching his briefcase.

 

Whether it was the dark material of the suit accentuating his pallor or the glassy look to his eyes, his advisor immediately frowned, dropping the case on the couch and gently feeling his charge’s forehead. “You’re warm.”

 

“Guess the flu isn’t entirely done with me. I’m fine Iggy. I took the meds you left me and they’re working.” When the older man didn’t look like he believed him, Noctis pulled out his best pleading expression. “The zoning request has to happen today, Ig. If I postpone it it could throw off the whole project. I promise as soon as this meeting is finished I’ll come back here and eat as much soup as you want me to. I won’t even pick around the vegetables!”

 

A commitment indeed. Ignis pursed his lips with uncertainty, his arms crossed over his chest, but he’d never been able to resist Noct’s wide blue eyes. “Fine. But I’m putting extra vegetables in the soup.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know that this story really has a plot outside of giving me an excuse to write all kinds of bonding with a good side helping of angst because reasons. It's pretty heavily inspired by a personal story in which I am an idiot and almost died because I was more concerned about my college attendance record than realizing I had bacterial meningitis. Apologies in advance for any medical inaccuracy that might crop up- I lived it but I don't remember a pretty significant helping of it. Also I'm not sold on the title, but meh.
> 
>  
> 
> I have avoided multi-chapter for YEARS because I'm bad at following through, but I like to think I've gained some responsibility since then. I guess we're gonna find out!
> 
> Thanks for reading! Feel free to come bug me on [Tumblr](http://kryptodrakonprogenitor.tumblr.com)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little more setup this chapter, before we get to the really good stuff.

He made it through the meeting, and the zoning change was accepted with unanimous approval, which was excellent news, but there was never an opening after he’d said his piece to slip out of the rest of the proceedings, and by the time the agricultural minister had finished plodding through his budget requests the ibuprofen had begun to wear off and the headache had returned with a vengeance. Noctis felt chilled, shivering inside his suit, pen in his hand hovering idly over a blank page as he struggled to listen to the monotonous droning about plant yields and crop rotations. Also he was either hallucinating or a whole assembly of cactuars had suddenly decided to take a keen interest in Insomnia’s political council. Ignis kept shooting him concerned looks over the table, glancing at the balcony and then back at the prince with one eyebrow lifted so high it was in danger of disappearing into his perfectly coiffed hair.

 

When the meeting finally adjourned, he stayed in his chair until most of the rest of the council (and the cactuars) had filed from the room, gathering the will to stand. He still wasn’t fully prepared for the vertigo that assaulted him when he rose from the chair, tightening his grip on the table until his knuckles were white while the world tipped and turned around him and static erupted between his ears. His head and neck throbbed with his heartbeat and nausea roiled in his gut, and he prayed to any Astral that might be listening that he wasn’t about to be sick.

 

He didn’t hear the soft tapping of the cane, but when the world had finally righted itself and his ears stopped ringing he was surprised to look up and find the King standing in front of him, flanked by Clarus in his council robes and wearing a concerned expression.

 

It never got any better, the creeping fingers of sorrow that squeezed his chest every time he saw his dad and realized that he’d aged noticeably in mere weeks. Without classes and homework he’d expected their visits to be more frequent, but things between them only seemed more strained, if possible. Noct never resented the sacrifices his father was forced to make for the good of the kingdom, but he could do without the verbal reminder that one day the responsibility would fall on him. As if his father’s worsening limp and graying hair weren’t enough to ensure he was aware how soon he’d be without Regis’ guiding hand and quick smile.

 

“I wasn’t expecting to see you back yet,” Regis said quietly, reaching out to gently cup his son’s face and frowning at the warmth beneath his hand. “You still have a fever. You should be in bed.”

 

“Been in bed for a week already,” Noct rasped, grimacing. “I couldn’t postpone the zoning vote without derailing my entire project. Meant to leave as soon as I was finished, but Minister Bosworth is just so riveting.” 

 

Clarus’s snort was poorly disguised by a hasty cough, and Regis rolled his eyes, the corners of his mouth quirking upward behind his beard. “I understand how important this project is to you. But it shouldn’t come at the expense of your health.” He hadn’t missed the way Noct was leaning into his touch without a shred of embarrassment, a sure sign that his walls were down, which meant he must be feeling lousy indeed. “What I’d like to know is how you managed to talk Ignis into letting you come in the first place.”

 

“I promised to eat vegetables tonight.”

 

The king let his hand drop. “You really must want that park.” Noct’s hatred for vegetables had been a lifelong thorn in Regis’ side and a running joke between those that knew him, but it certainly looked like he could use the extra nutrition now. “I’m sure you’ll have plenty to enjoy.”

 

“‘S worth it,” came the quiet reply. The prince looked ready to fall asleep on his feet, and Regis nodded to Ignis, who stepped forward without a word to take his elbow. 

 

“Get some rest,” Regis told him, reaching out to tenderly brush the boy’s bangs from his eyes with a thumb. 

 

He didn’t move as Noct and Iggy departed, the door shutting smoothly behind them. Clarus stepped to his elbow. “You should take your own advice,” he said softly. “If he’s stubborn about resting when he needs it, he learned it from his father.”

 

Regis smiled. “I recall some things your own son learned from you. Muleheaded, I believe you called him this morning.” 

 

His shield’s laughter lightened his heart somewhat. “Perhaps that’s why he’s so taken with your son. They have that in common.”

 

“It will serve them well, I think.” He winced when he shifted his weight onto his bad leg, but the brace held. “Go home, Clarus, dine with your family. There’s nothing that cannot wait until tomorrow.” 

 

They’d been friends long enough that Clarus recognized his need to be alone. “If you visit him, take a Glaive with you. For my sanity.” He bowed, fist clasped over his heart in a formal salute, and then turned on a heel, council robes billowing, and walked from the chamber, leaving Regis alone. 

 

He did want to visit Noctis, but his son needed rest more than he needed Regis, so the king instead headed for his own rooms to take advantage of the rare opportunity for an early night. 

 

More and more it seemed the burden of the Wall, the crystal, and the Kingsglaive were taking a toll on him, aging him far beyond his years, sapping the life from his body. Every aching joint and new wrinkle and gray hair, marked another day he was to be denied by the royal burden that was his to bear. He spun the ring of the Lucii on his finger as he walked, his cane clacking against the marble, his knee brace clanking softly with each carefully measured step. The metal band was ever cold to the touch, the faceted shard of crystal embedded in its face always emitting a chilly glow. His son had mused aloud once that it reminded him of death, and Regis had thought it a fitting observation, considering how quickly it had walked all of their line into the grave. 

 

Noctis would never bear this burden, but there was no solace in the notion. Something far worse awaited his son, something Regis couldn’t protect him from, no matter how much he railed against it. Noct was Chosen, plucked up by the Astrals to bear out his great destiny and save the world, but cursed seemed a far more accurate descriptor for such a destiny. It was the reason he’d pushed to allow Noctis as much normalcy as possible, insisting he attend public school, allowing him to live in an apartment away from the Citadel and obtain a part-time job in the city, indulging his love for video games by allowing Ignis to sneak him out to midnight release parties (always with plainclothes crownsguard hidden in the crowd, but he’d keep that to himself). Perhaps it was selfish of him, but he’d wanted his son to experience as much life as possible before meeting his fate.

 

Noctis had returned the favor by graduating top of his class, dedicating himself to his training, and eventually, stepping wholeheartedly into his duties. He still played too many video games, still occasionally overslept, still wore clothes with missing buttons or torn seams without realizing it. Regis could live with it all, because he’d also retained his compassionate heart, even after everything he’d been through. He hid it often behind a smokescreen of taciturn indifference that fooled approximately no one who knew him more than five minutes, but it was as evident in his commitment to this park project as it was in the cans of fancy cat food Regis still found regularly in the gardens.

 

The walk to his rooms wasn’t a long one, but by the time Regis rached the short hallway to his door his knee was aching and his steps were stiff and uneven. Someone had been by to light the fire in the solar, bathing the room in warmth the king was grateful for as he sank into the well-loved leather armchair he often haunted in the evenings. He leaned the cane against the small side table and stretched out his bad leg toward the hearth, sinking into the cushions with a sigh and letting his eyes fall closed. 

 

It had been a long week. Noctis and the flu were old acquaintances, but Regis had never been able to shake the anxiety that came with a decline in his son’s health, however mild. That he couldn’t simply shrug off his duties to spend time with his ailing child seemed especially cruel when Ignis had talked the prince into spending his convalescence in the Citadel rather than his apartment. There Noct had been, under his very nose, and he’d barely found a spare moment to check in on him. 

 

Noctis understood, of course he did, but that almost made Regis feel worse.

 

The sharp knock on the door announced the arrival of dinner. He hadn’t had much of an appetite lately, but the tomato soup and grilled cheese, undoubtedly requested by his steward before he’d left the Citadel for the night, was exactly what he might have selected for himself, and he ate it gratefully while poring over reports from the Kingsglaive outside the wall. Skirmishes with the Empire had increased, concentrated prods into Lucian territory that dispersed as soon as they met heavy resistance. Niflheim was like an animal testing the strength of an electrified fence, looking for the weak points to drive an offensive through. So far they hadn’t found any, but it was only a matter of time. His glaives were stretched thin, and each day made him older, weakened him, while all the while Aldercapt and his lackeys developed new and horrifying weapons to use against them.

 

Ignis texted him at eight to let him know Noct was asleep, having expended the last of his energy making faces while forcing down vegetable-laden daggerquill soup. Regis laughed at the mental image, and texted back a sincere thanks to his son’s advisor. Truly Ignis was a gift, and not only for making his son eat a carrot now and again. He suspected the boy had had a hand in many of the positive changes in his son since their ill-fated journey to Tenebrae. 

Once everything had been reviewed and signed, Regis showered and changed for bed, stopping on the way back to his chair to pull a book from one of the shelves in the corner. It had been some time since he’d had a spare moment to read anything that wasn’t a report or a budget proposal or an amendment, but the crackle of well-loved leather binding was familiar and comforting. The book was an old one, a collection of poems and short stories that his father had once read to him, and that he’d read to Noctis when he was young. Some of the pages were dogeared or torn, some had been used to press various flowers and stems, others had doodles in the margins in crayon or pencil. Noct’s favorite poem, a rather melancholy one about a raven, sported a smear of blue prints in fingerpaint. Regis ran his own fingers gently over the marks; he liked them, a little joy left behind in something profoundly sad. 

 

He lost himself in the stories while the fire burned low and night blanketed the city, chasing away the waning light of dusk with a velvet curtain smattered with stars. He’d meant to retire early, but by the time a soft knock on the door startled him from his reading it was fast approaching midnight. 

 

Regis yawned, stretching until his spine crackled pleasingly, and set the book aside on the table, realizing with a start that someone had come to take his dinner tray and he’d never noticed. Clarus would have had an earful for his lack of awareness, he thought with a smile, as he climbed slowly to his feet and reached for the cane. 

 

The knock didn’t come again, but there was a shadow against the rug where light fell under the door. Frowning, Regis limped across the carpet and took a moment to check his grip on the armiger before opening the door. “Noctis?"

“H-hey dad.”

 

Alarm bells blared in his head. His son stood slumped over in the hallway with his arms wrapped around his stomach, gray beneath a sheen of sweat, eyes unfocused and glassy and squinted nearly shut even in the dim lighting. "You should be asleep." Regis reached out to catch him as he swayed and he had to fight the urge to recoil from the heat that baked off of him with startling intensity. “Noct, look at me,” he murmured, forcing his voice to stay low, to stay level despite the fear crawling up the back of his throat like bile. Something was wrong, something more than the flu. 

 

“I think…” Noct whispered. “I think maybe I’m dying.” 

 

He might as well have dropped a Blizzaga in the hallway for all that Regis felt his veins freeze at the admission. The king barely had time to call for the guards before his son went suddenly boneless in his arms, dragging both of them to the floor in a heap. 

 

“Your majesty, what--”

 

“Tell medical to get up here!” he snapped, cutting off the question. As the man nodded sharply and tapped his earpiece to relay the order, Noctis let out a rasping moan and began twitching in his arms. “Tell them to hurry!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You cannot convince me that in a world where the protagonist might as well be named "Night McDarkerson" there wouldn't be Edgar Allen Poe, I'm just saying.
> 
> I'm hoping the POV change wasn't too jarring; this chapter really wanted to be about Regis after the first bit and I struggled with how to segue from one Lucis Caelum to the other, and with writing Regis in general, although it's fun to imagine him talking about vegetables in Sean Bean's voice. 
> 
> I'm blown away by the response to this in just a day, you guys, and all I can say is THANK YOU. The comments and kudos and bookmarks are so, so appreciated. I feel Ramuh in this Chilis tonight. 
> 
> Chapter 3 probably won't be a 24-hour update, but it shouldn't be terribly long in coming either. Much love!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short one this week. Bad excuses at the end of the chapter!  
> Brief description of a lumbar puncture in this chapter. If you're not a fan of needles or medical squick ye be warned.

Regis just barely clung to the fraying edges of his composure as he held his son tightly through the lumbar puncture.

 

He’d been so relieved when Noctis woke up, but it withered like leaves in winter at the strangled gasp that escaped him when the needle went into his back. Regis held him still where his upper half lay draped across a side table, whispering words of encouragement into his sweaty hair and trying desperately not to lose his grip on his own emotions. 

 

“‘S not that bad, Dad,” Noct whispered, while his right hand tangled in the lapel of his father’s dressing gown and a single tear dripped from the end of his nose onto the crisp white pillowcase beneath his cheek. Each vial of clear fluid took only a minute to collect, but it felt too long to Regis, aeons measured in every hitching breath and twitch of long fingers against the king’s chest.

 

Then it was over, and a nurse was retying the hospital gown behind Noct’s neck while Regis held him, shaking and exhausted, in his arms. The nurse laid the bed down flat, they managed to get the prince down curled up on his side, and Regis carefully arranged the various tubes and wires while she went to fetch a blanket from the warmer. Noct’s fingers never once left his lapel, knuckles white where they were twisted into the silk as though he might fly off the surface of Eos if he let go. It made it hard for Regis to maneuver, but he managed to twist his body back into the chair by the head of the bed, sitting forward to gently stroke his son’s hair the way he’d done so often over the years.

 

The nurse brought back the blanket, showed Noct where the call button was on the remote attached to the wall and left it near his head, taking her leave with one last motherly smile at his back. Regis mouthed a thank you as she dimmed the lights and closed the door behind her. 

 

The night had been mostly a blur after the triage team had spilled from the elevator into the king’s corridor. He’d allowed himself to be pushed back out of the way, had the presence of mind to hobble back to his room for a dressing gown and his knee brace while they assessed Noct and loaded him onto the gurney, and then he’d been determined to stay with his son, keeping pace no matter how loudly his bad leg protested as they carted him back to the infirmary for a barrage of tests. Once he’d been conscious enough, Noctis had struggled to do as they asked, to not let on how much he hurt. He put on a brave face for his father’s sake and Regis hated every second his son suffered silently for his benefit. 

 

And now, all they could do was wait. Wait for the cultures, wait for the ibuprofen to kick in, wait for the antibiotics to start working, wait wait wait. It was a parent’s worst nightmare, knowing his child was in pain and utterly helpless to do anything about it. Worse, Regis had the power of the gods at his fingertips, the crystal’s magic screaming through his veins, glowing with soft ferocity from the jewel set into the Ring on his finger, and knew that it was all horribly useless. Potions and spells and elixirs had their limits; not one of them could touch a common cold, let alone an infection like the one that had settled in Noct’s spine. It was down to man’s medicine, and however cautiously optimistic the doctors were, however much they reassured him that they’d likely caught it early enough, that the odds were in their favor, Regis knew the numbers. Meningitis wasn’t an automatic death sentence, but the statistics weren’t exactly encouraging either.

 

Noctis had come through worse and survived. That was what he had to hold onto.

 

He didn’t realize his fingers had stilled in Noct’s hair until the latter made a questioning sound and cracked one eye open. “Dad?”

 

“I’m sorry, I was just thinking.” Regis pushed the bangs out of his son’s face and cupped his cheek. The heat radiating from the skin under his palm had cooled just a little, the first sign that the cocktail of medications they’d pushed into the IV were working, and it loosened the knot of terror in his chest just a little bit.

 

“It’s not your fault, you know.” That Noctis had guessed exactly what he was thinking no longer surprised him; the prince was good at reading people. When the king wasn’t forthcoming with an answer, he let his eye close again and sighed. “You called Ignis?”

 

Regis nodded. “During the CT. He said he needed to make a stop, but he’s on his way.” 

 

“Pastries,” Noct said with a small, tired smile. “He feeds people when he’s anxious.” He shifted on the bed, trying to tug the blanket higher and hissing through his teeth when the movement jarred his neck. “Who else?”

 

“Cor, and Clarus. Doubtless Gladio will accompany his father, and Ignis was planning to stop for Prompto. They won’t be able to visit right away, but they’ll be here.”  _ In case the worst happens,  _ his brain helpfully supplied. Regis swallowed the sorrow at the potential for truth in those words, because he  _ refused  _ to entertain any other outcome than the one where Noctis made a complete recovery. 

 

The prince nodded as much as he dared. “S gonna be okay dad. ‘M not going anywhere. Promise.” His words were beginning to slur, tongue tripping over exhaustion and the fever’s strong pull toward sleep. 

 

“You’d better not,” Regis whispered, returning his fingers to his son’s hair. When a fine shiver made Noct whimper he pulled his hand back and climbed gingerly out of the chair, retrieving his cane from where he’d leant it against the end of the bed. “I’ll ask about another blanket,” he said, smiling faintly at the feeble thumbs up that was the only response.

 

He allowed himself a moment after the door clicked shut to sag against the wall, dropping his head into his hands to rake his fingers through his own hair and taking a shaky breath. Astrals this was hard. Noct talking and joking should have been reassuring, verbal mush though a lot of it was, but it was obvious how much he was hurting and still trying to hide it. Even if Regis hadn’t been warned about the severity of the situation, he’d know things were bad just because Noctis wasn’t whining endlessly, the way he did about minor inconveniences like a papercut or a stubbed toe. Worse, Noct had sensed his father’s unease and expended extra effort to reassure  _ him,  _ which meant he hadn’t been policing his own expression as well as he’d thought. 

 

He needed sleep, he needed to wrap his head around the waiting game that they’d be playing over the next several days, and he needed to eat something, but first he needed to get a blanket for his son. 

 

By the time he made it back to the room Noctis was out like a light, pulse a tad fast but reassuringly steady on the monitor. He didn’t stir when Regis draped the second blanket over his legs, leaving it folded down around his waist so he didn’t overheat. The window on the far wall had heavy curtains pulled against the city lights outside, but through a crack in the fabric the first pale light of dawn was showing. He chuckled without humor; so much for an early night in, indeed. There was no shortage of wood paneling in the Citadel; he should have remembered to knock.

 

The door cracked open, and Astrid the nurse stuck her head in. “There are people waiting for you outside, Your Majesty. I can sit with the prince if you’d like to speak with them now.” 

 

For an instant, just a fraction of a moment, Regis wanted to say no, that he was needed here. Father’s instinct warred with the demands of duty, and he was sure from Astrid’s understanding expression that the conflict must have showed on his face. Yeah, he  _ really  _ needed to get some sleep. 

 

Inevitably, he nodded to her, allowing her to slide into the room after donning her protective gear and letting himself out into the corridor in her place. “I’ll come get you if anything changes,” she told him, and he nodded and turned on a heel, straightening his shoulders as he limped toward the double doors to the waiting room. 

  
  


* * *

 

 

He’d just broken the lace on his running shoe when Iggy’s number lit up his phone screen, and he'd been convinced that his day couldn't get any worse.

 

Now, sitting in the waiting room of the Citadel's infirmary, he was cursing himself for tempting fate. When was he going to learn? 

 

Gladio was watching him from a chair across the aisle, one knuckle pressed firmly to his lips to stop what Prompto was sure was a litany of comments about his attire. It was  _ laundry  _ day, and it wasn’t like he’d planned to be down to just the bright yellow sweatshirt with the chocobo face on the hood on this day of all days. The glares he kept shooting at the big guy over his folded knees were just making it worse, so Prompto turned toward the view out the window instead and tried to ignore the half-choked snickering when the sweater’s jaunty chocobo tail slid off the arm of the chair. 

 

Dawn had broken over Insomnia, the light wavering as it passed through the barrier of the new wall and falling across the white stone and light steel that made up most of the taller buildings in the city. Everything glittered oddly, and without the sounds and smells he was used to Prompto felt more like he was staring down at an architectural model than a living breathing metropolis. 

 

Hospitals had always given Prompto nerves he couldn’t really explain, so he refused the pastry Ignis offered, then called the advisor back and took the danish when he started to wander away with an expression like a kicked puppy. Everyone who knew Ignis knew he was like an Altissian grandmother when it came to feeding people, especially in times of crisis. Showing up in the infirmary and being told his best friend couldn’t have visitors yet because he was in isolation definitely qualified. Prompto had nervously asked Iggy what it meant. “Let’s wait for the king. I’m sure he’ll explain everything,” had been the hesitant reply. 

 

An hour later they were still waiting, along with everyone else who’d showed up. It was like an unofficial phone tree that got activated whenever Noctis did anything more dangerous than stubbing a toe. Regis called Ignis. Ignis called Clarus and Cor. Clarus told Gladio, who called Nyx, who called Crowe, and then one of them picked Prompto up and brought him along. He was happy just to be included, so he never complained about being last.

 

All of them looked up when the double doors by the reception desk dumped King Regis into their midst in his pajamas and dressing gown, side conversations dying instantly as they all stood up to bow. 

 

Regis ran a hand over his face and sighed. “Perhaps in light of where we are and why, it would be better to dispense with the formalities. Thank you all for coming.” He glanced at each of them in turn, even Prompto, though his eyebrow rose comically as he took in the sweater and his eyes crinkled ever so slightly when Prompto shrugged and felt his ears heat under the scrutiny. “We’ve been granted the use of a conference room just down the hall. Third door on the right, if you please.” 

 

They all filed past with efficiency, but Prompto found himself stopping in front of the king, picking nervously at a stray thread inside his sleeve. “Your majesty? I was wondering, and let me know if I’m overstepping or anything, but I wanted to ask… everyone is really worried about Noct, and that’s normal, right? We all really care about him and stuff, but sometimes I think people forget how hard it’s gotta be for you that he’s sick. I mean I’m not a parent, and my parents work a lot so they’ve never really been around when I’ve been sick so I don’t know, but I imagine it’s tough, and you look tired. But not in a bad way!” Oh gods he was rambling. Prompto took a breath, held it for a second and let it out. “What I meant to say was, we’ll all do anything we can to help Noctis, but I also wanted to ask if there was anything  _ you  _ need? I know you have a whole palace full of people who can get things for you, but if there’s anything I can do…” he trailed off, dropping his gaze to the floor. 

 

The king didn’t answer right away, and Prompto looked up to catch the expression of genuine surprise on the older man’s face, just for a moment, before it gave way to a slightly watery smile. “Thank you Prompto,” he murmured, and if his voice wavered a tiny bit Prompto didn’t mention it. “I… that’s very kind of you.” 

 

He wasn’t sure what possessed him to do it, but in the space of time it took for Regis to wipe at one eye Prompto stepped forward and threw his arms around the king. His brain immediately panicked, a split second to imagine being tackled by crownsguard or blasted off his feet by lightning for touching the king of Lucis without permission, but then he felt Regis soften out of stiff surprise, arms coming up to return the hug, and he knew it had been the right move. Prompto had always been tactile, and near everyone he’d befriended since Noct tolerated his propensity for physical affection. Noct’s own father, it seemed, could be added to the list, under the right circumstances. 

 

Regis broke the hug after a minute, stepping back but leaving his hands on Prompto’s shoulders, looking at him with gratitude and just a hint of amusement. “Apologies,” he murmured after a moment, “but I have to ask…” 

  
“Yeah, it’s got a tail,” Prompto groused. “Like I told Gladio, it’s  _ laundry  _ day.”

 

The king chuckled all the way to the conference room, but Prompto didn't really mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, the dangers of turning a plotless exercise into a plotless multichapter work of fiction.  
> This is the sixth complete rewrite of this chapter, and I'm still not happy with it but I just Cannot. Look at it. Anymore. Sorry y'all.  
> But hey! Prompto, being an absolute ray of sunshine! IDK I really needed Regis to experience firsthand what an authentically kind soul his son's best friend is. 
> 
> I tried to find a good middle ground between the routine LP and what I went through. Just be aware that most people don't experience much or any pain during an LP. Mine was significantly horribly botched and it sucked really bad but that's not a normal outcome, I just wrote it that way for the drama. Because I'm mean.
> 
> Ignis in this chapter is 100% based on Italian grandmother stereotypes because they’re TRUE. My grandma’s goal in life was to feed everyone as much as possible, and her policy was pretty much there was no situation that couldn’t be improved with food.
> 
> As always, thanks SO MUCH for the comments and the kudos. I love engaging with you guys and hearing your thoughts.


End file.
